


crafted by fate (and cursed by destiny)

by bellamyslady



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5572804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamyslady/pseuds/bellamyslady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You may look different but give me a lifetime and I will know you even if you wore the face of a man,” Bellamy breathed, his eyes sad.  “You’re not the only one lonely, Hel.”</p><p>She has always run away from him, century after century, but star crossed lovers always find a way to be together. It is the roaring 20s and she needs help only he can give. But in this time, will he help her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	crafted by fate (and cursed by destiny)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [kalasgravity](http://kalasgravity.tumblr.com/) for [the 100 secret santa](http://the100secretsanta.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. I actually struggled really hard while writing this but I feel like the sweat, blood and tears paid off. The language here isn't very era appropriate partially because I didn't have the time to really research and use era-appropriate language but also because I didn't want to confuse readers not familiar with the Roaring 20s. 
> 
> This is completely unbeta-ed. The second time I've ever released an unbeta-ed piece.

People looked both ways before venturing down the dirty alley, Clarke noticed, from where she camped out on the sidewalk, disguised as a drunk who had fallen asleep. Her sources had told her a speakeasy lay behind one of the doors and judging by the faint strains of music she heard, they were right. She wouldn’t be surprised if her sources frequented the establishment themselves and were on excellent terms with her target.

Clarke estimated she had been sitting there for twenty minutes, making sure her information was right before she made her next move. It appeared to be a harmless speakeasy. According to her information, it was a safe haven for the fallen, run by the man—no, god—she wanted most to avoid. Tonight, she was going to need his help. “This had better be worth it,” she muttered to herself as she checked no one was around before picking herself up and following the sweet sound of jazz.

Standing outside the nondescript door, she patted her thigh to assure her gun was still tucked into her garters. She wasn’t on duty but it made her feel safer, especially in dealing with the man who made a name for himself on the streets. She took in a sharp breath and went to open the door to find it swinging open before she could even reach it. Only the greater establishments could afford to a doorkeeper. It seems Bellamy was not to be underestimated.

She was greeted with his infuriating voice even before the door had shut behind her. “The goddess finally graces us with her presence. Are you here to arrest us, Officer Griffin?”

Everyone turned to look at her and the band in the corner stopped playing, rendering the whole speakeasy in complete silence. “If I was here to arrest you, I would be dressed for the occasion,” she said dryly, a hand on her hip. That seemed to satisfy the clientele for the music resumed and everyone went back to whatever they had been doing.

Her eyes swept the room as she stalked slowly over to the bar, deliberately swaying her hips as she did so. She found satisfaction in her dirty trick when Bellamy’s eyes widened, not used to seeing her dress up in this lifetime. It was necessary to keep her distance from him but if she was going to him for help, especially with her profession, she was going to look her best.

Clarke was glad to see most of her kin were here; surrounded by the people they knew and loved, sharing in their misery of being locked out of Asgard. The only ones missing were Odin and Thor, who too often deemed themselves above the hedonism of the era. “You wear red very well, my lady,” he grinned as he took in her shiny beaded dress and silver dancing shoes and Clarke knew he was remembering a different time when her short dress was a long gown and she wore silver in her hair instead of on her feet. She heard the silent question. _Did you wear it for me?_

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t go there. I’m warning you. The last time was a mistake I am not looking to repeat.”

“Bellamy,” he purred, leaning forward. “They call me Bellamy in this lifetime. A strange name, I’ll admit but one I never get tired of hearing. Apparently, it means handsome friend. Fitting, don’t you think?”

Meeting his eyes, Clarke drank in his features and though she would never admit it, agreed with whoever had named him. He had deep, brown eyes that seemed to sing to her mortal soul. His lips were carved from perfection, hard yet soft and his jaw would cut through precious metal. She resisted the urge to kiss every freckle dusting his cheeks and push back the shaggy hair flopping over his forehead.

Their mortal appearances altered with every lifetime but Heimdallr—no, Bellamy—remained the same. It made sense for he was the watcher and the gods needed to know how to find him but it wreaked havoc on Clarke’s mortal self. She could still remember the nauseating smell of unwashed bodies and perfume permeating the ballroom, the kiss of cool night air on her heated skin as they ran down the corridors of the palace and his hand warm in hers. She remembered the taste of his skin.

“I can tell you’re thinking about the palace. You always get this look on your face. And speaking of looks, I like the face you’re wearing. Have I ever told you that?”

Clarke’s cheeks flushed; whether from embarrassment, anger or lust, she wasn’t too sure. Perhaps it was all three. “I am warning you, Heimdallr. I have my gun strapped to my thigh and I will not be afraid to use it.”

“I love a woman with guns.” Bellamy smirked slightly as he filled a mug for a customer who took one look at Clarke and scampered off with his liquor. He wiped the counter with a rag and then leaned closer to her, as if whispering a secret. “What colour are your garters? I bet they’re pink, to match your dress. Or maybe black like a vamp.”

She curled her hand into a fist to prevent herself from slapping him or running a hand through his hair; she wasn’t quite sure which. “I have spent many centuries evading your affections,” Clarke said firmly, her eyes daring him to bring up the Regency. “I will not cave now.”

“And how many more have you spent in solitary, alone and lonely, with no one but the souls and servants to keep you company?”

“Do not speak to me of loneliness.”

“I remember how soft your skin is, the little place between your neck and shoulder. I remember you love roses, you take your tea overly sweet. I remember your lips on mine, your hands on my skin and the way you cry my name. You may look different but give me a lifetime and I will know you even if you wore the face of a man,” Bellamy breathed, his eyes sad.  “You’re not the only one lonely, Hel.”

“And yet you take a lover every lifetime.”

“Only because I cannot have you.” _Not all lifetimes, my love_ , his eyes said.

Clarke sighed softly. If he couldn’t be happy with her, it was best he find it with another woman and be spared their cursed fate. It broke her heart every lifetime when Bellamy gave up chasing her and instead, took another woman for a lover, a partner, a wife. He sometimes even bore children with her but in all her lifetimes, Clarke chose to remain alone, except for one. She was far too used to being alone. “I did not come here to speak of the past, Heimdallr.”

“Why do you avoid what is between us?”

“Because we were cursed into this life. I never chose this fate. I am not going to accept it.” _I lost you once. I’d rather be lonely than deal with the pain_ , she said silently.

“We were cursed to be mortal, Hel. Our immortality made us arrogant, made us weak.”

“Humans are no less arrogant or weak,” Clarke snorted.

“You forget you are now human, Hel,” Bellamy said, pulling out two bottles of liquor and handing one to her.

She tapped her bottle against his and drank steadily despite the path it seared down her throat. “Do you think I don’t know that?” she asked and then sighed softly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, forgetting she was wearing bright red lipstick to match her dress. “This is really good.”

“You look well kissed, my love.”

Clarke frowned at him and then she looked down at her hand before groaning. “I will never get used to the confounded need of this time to paint your lips bright red,” she complained and before she could ask, he was wiping away the smeared lipstick with a damp cloth. It felt good to have his hands on her, even though it was behind a cloth. “Thank you.”

“You’re still red around the mouth,” Bellamy said but before she could do anything, his hand gently cradled her jaw and his thumb swiped at her bottom lip, trying to get rid of the stain. Her heart raced as memories of nights by the warm fireplace of their room at Blake Manor, of his fingers deftly undressing her as they prepared for sleep, of quiet breakfasts and gallops through the land and of the way her heart broke when he was taken away from her too early.

Clarke quickly pulled away but not before she registered the hurt in Bellamy’s eyes at being rejected. But, he covered it up with a smile and offered her another bottle of homemade liquor. She took it, only to have something to do with her hands. They drank in comfortable silence, letting the music wash gently over the space and years between them. Then, Bellamy spoke, “Why are you here, my love? Twenty three years in this lifetime and you haven’t sought me out once. Why now?”

She wanted to tell him not to use the endearment but she couldn’t bring herself to. She missed hearing it spill freely from his lips. She took a deep breath. “I need your help, Heimdallr. I need to get back into Asgard.”

Immediately, Bellamy burst into laughter, drawing stares from everyone in the cavernous room. He laughed so hard tears actually spilled from his eyes. Clarke sighed and rapped her knuckles hard on the top get his attention. “I’m sorry, my love. That was a good funny,” he said, when he finally managed to stop laughing even though a few giggles escaped him.

“I am not kidding.”

“If Odin can’t find a way to get back, how do you think I can?” Bellamy asked, raising a brow.

“I am not stupid. I heard the rumours. You’ve found a way in and now I need you to show it to me.”

“Why are you so desperate to return?”

“How long has it been since you’ve dreamed?” Clarke asked, finishing her second bottle of liquor and motioning to Bellamy for another. He handed her one but not before he gave her a look that said _you’re not getting it for free_ to which she just made a rude gesture but thumped the money on the counter any way.

“Not since we were cursed out of our homes.”

“I had a dream three nights ago,” Clarke said, pausing to let the information sink in. The only reaction she got was Bellamy’s nostrils flaring as if he were breathing in sharply and deeply. Hiding a grin, she continued, “Garmr brought me a message. The souls say something is about to happen. They don’t know what is it but they can feel it. I need to go home to protect them, guide them.”

“Centuries we’ve been locked out and _now_ something happens? I find it hard to believe.”

Clarke frowned. “You think someone is tricking me?”

“Why you? And not Odin?”

“I don’t know but I have been away far too long. The souls are unprotected. Garmr can only do so much on his own. I need to go back. We all do.” Clarke looked pointedly at him. “If someone, even if it wasn’t Garmr, could get out a message, then there has to be a rip in the barrier somehow. And my sources told me you know where it is.”

Bellamy narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to deliver what she suspected was another thinly veiled attempt at trying to get her to acknowledge what lay between. But, he was interrupted when a man Clarke didn’t recognise appeared at his side, appearing calm but she could see a distress in his eyes. She finished the last of her liquor as Bellamy listened to what the man had to say and then, the man took off as suddenly as he had appeared.

“If I help you, you must help me in return.” Gone was the Bellamy who pleaded for her to return to his side, who called her _my love_. In his place was the Bellamy whose name was notorious in the force for bribery and corruption, who owned the streets. This was the Bellamy who could kill with a single command. She should feel afraid but Clarke wasn’t. She knew him intimately, knew the man he was and could become.

She didn’t give it a second thought. “Okay.”

Bellamy smiled faintly at her. He rounded the bar and stood next to her. His back was to the room and his hand wrapped around her waist, the familiar weight of his embrace sinking into her bones. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear and the heat of his body wrapping around her. Unconsciously, she braced a hand on his chest, his steady heartbeat beneath her fingers. “Your sources were correct, my love. I indeed am aware of a loophole in the barrier but I have only made two successful trips. It leads into a part of Asgard we are not familiar with but perhaps, you might. It’s dark and dreary, like you.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. Bellamy tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and she shivered, the sensation arrowing straight to the juncture of her thighs. This was exactly why she avoided him and his wicked hands. “I must warn you, my love. When and if we manage to get back in, everything will return to the way it was. We will have fragments of our memories in Midgard but nothing more,” he said. “Is that what you want?”  

She could hear the silent question: _do you really want to give us up?_ “How are you able to return if we lose our memories?”

“I’m the watcher. I remember everything.” Pain was all she heard and pain was all she felt.  

“In a few minutes, your friends are going to bust through the door and arrest the lot of us.”

Clarke raised a brow. Bellamy continued, “Of course I’m not going to let it happen. It’s bad for business. We always prepare for situations like this and I have an idea of how you can pay your debt.”

“I’m not going to like it, am I?”

Bellamy just grinned.

* * *

 

Within minutes, the space was cleared and devoid of furniture except for a candlelit table and two chairs. Where there were once tables and chairs, it was now filled with boxes declaring items such as paper and ink. Wooden crates lay open, revealing pallets of soap and there was even an empty stack of crates marked for return. “You’ve really outdone yourself,” Clarke said, impressed.

“You didn’t think we’d allow ourselves to get caught, did you?” Bellamy grinned.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the door and a gruff voice yelled for them to open up. “Show time, my love,” he said, turning to Clarke. “Kiss me.”

“Is this some elaborate trick to get together again?” she snarled. Clarke couldn’t believe him. She had trusted him with her secret and her plan to get back into Asgard. She revealed her knowledge about a rip in the barrier and trusted him. She was the daughter of a trickster, she should have known better. “I expected better from you, Heimdallr. Your mortal years have eroded the very qualities you stood for on Asgard and—”

Bellamy had clamped a hand over her mouth and his other arm held her tight against his body. She kicked at him but he avoided it expertly. “Would you stop talking for once and just play along?” Bellamy asked, slowly letting her go once she stopped fighting him. “Sure, it might be a ruse but I’m not lying about the police and I am not lying about the rip. I haven’t told anyone anything because it is dangerous and also, I believe we could all benefit from a little mortality.”

Clarke moved to stomp on his foot but he dodged her. “Stop it, Clarke. All I’m asking for is one kiss. Just one. Stop fighting our fate.”

The banging on the door persisted followed by another request for them to open up. “You die, Heimdallr. In every lifetime, if we…accept each other romantically, you die and I can’t live with that. I can’t do it again.”

“What do you mean again?”

“Half a year after we got married, you were killed in a hunting accident. It didn’t make sense how you died but you did. Don’t you remember?”

Bellamy shook his head slowly. “We’re not supposed to be together but somehow, the curse fated us to find each other,” Clarke said, collapsing into a chair, suddenly weary from the confession. “It’s our punishment.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“How do you tell someone that the moment they fall in love with you, they die?”

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands framing her cheeks and forcing her to look in his eyes. Clarke’s eyes were dry, she had cried too much and for far too long. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry I put you through such pain. I’m sorry you had to be alone. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Well then. I’m sorry for annoying you, constantly reminding you of your loss, trying to force you into compromising positions.”

“Open up or we will break down this door!”

Clarke sighed. “Kiss me this once, Bellamy Blake, and let us get over with it.”

“Don’t sound like you’re heading for a funeral. It hurts my feelings.”

“I will be,” she said solemnly, looping her arms around his neck.

“We will find a way to fight it, my love,” he said huskily, rising slightly on his knees, drawing her towards him and pressing his forehead to hers.

Clarke wanted to protest, to say that there was no way to do so but his lips were on hers and sensation exploded across her skin. He smelled so familiar, like smoke and wood, but this time, it was weaved in together with the sharp bite of alcohol and cologne. His hair was as luxurious under her fingers as she remembered; the strands heavy and softer at the nape. He kissed her hard as if he was drowning and she was air. His hands went everywhere, her back, her thighs and her breasts, moulding the soft flesh possessively. She moaned when he spread her legs further, pulling her closer to him until she sat at the edge of the chair. His erection pressed against her wet core and she couldn’t help but roll her hips, rubbing against him. “Hel,” he whispered as he broke for air, his hand tightening in her hair.

He dived back in immediately, tangling his tongue with hers and fumbled for the hooks of her dress. “Stop or you’ll ruin it,” Clarke said languidly.

“I want to ruin you.”

“You already have.”

She chuckled softly and guided his hand to the hidden hooks in the side, wanting to feel him undressing her, wanting to feel his skin against hers. As the first hook fell aside, the door burst open with a loud splintering of wood. Bellamy cradled Clarke against his chest, shielding her from flying pieces of wood and from the eyes of the men she worked with on a daily basis.

“Hoi! What is the meaning of this?” Bellamy demanded, putting as much authority as he could into his tone. He could feel Clarke fumbling to hook the dress back into place and he released her but continued to hide her from the police. Much to his relief, Clarke kept herself hidden behind his broad figure as she deftly put her dress back into place. “I’m having a nice night here with my bird and you’ve just ruined it.”

“We received a—”

“I don’t care what you’ve received. Get out before I have each one of you arrested for trespassing on private property!”

"We’re very sorry, Mr. Blake. We didn’t realise it was only you,” said the officer in the front who appeared to be in charge. “We’re very sorry for ruining your night. It won’t happen again.”

“It damn right won’t.”

The loud sound of boots thudded away into the distance and the roars of the lead officer yelling at his men echoed in the alley. Neither of them moved until the night once more turned silent. “I have him on my pay roll,” Bellamy said quietly. “We were lucky.”

“I did what you asked of me. It’s your turn to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Bellamy smiled and stole one more kiss, running his hand down her side. Clarke pulled out her gun and with the same hand, pushed him away gently. “No more, Heimdallr. We went too far.”

“I will get us out of this. While we’re mortal, we deserve to be happy. When we’re back in Asgard, we can return to our lonely lives.”

“You can try but you can’t change fate.”

“Watch me try.”

“And fail miserably.”

Bellamy shrugged. “At least I tried.”

“Where is this rip?” Clarke asked, not wanting to drag out the details of their predicament even more.

Bellamy smiled widely and then he broke into a grin. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You’re standing above it.”

“You’re joking.”

“Why do you think I built my world on it?” Bellamy asked, motioning for her to follow him.

He led her behind a wall of crates that hid the bar and then lead her even further behind a secret door he opened by pulling a level disguised as a bottle. The room was small enough to fit only two people comfortably but what was more interesting was the suffocating wave of power Clarke felt when she stepped in. Bellamy’s grin was white in the darkness and as the door swung shut behind them, the room was enveloped in darkness. He flicked on a dim light and illuminated a trapdoor. He pulled it open and the wave she felt earlier turned into a torrent, drowning her in its glory. There were no stairs leading down. It was only an inky darkness, a fall into oblivion.

He held out a hand for her and she took it, gripping her gun in the other. “Let’s go home,” she said.


End file.
